A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Faced with the prospect of living his life with a deformed beak, my good friend Alari asked for my help in performing a favor for the Questors of Garlen. We struck out with Wizard and Cavalier in tow to seek the lost grove of the questor's blessed flowers, and our journey took us far into the hinterland north of the Throal Mountains.

This blighted place was home to packs of rotting wolves, bears benighted by infected sores, and and all the rotting children of Raggok. His cultists were thick in the place, and they chased us to the knees of the very grove we sought, while we struggled against their insidious razors and omnipresent poisons. The merest touch of their blades opened injuries bone deep, and layed thick in our veins poisons that rob of strength and volition, while we struggled to make even a single step into the darkened copse only yards away from us.

Our victory was narrow, to be sure, and I suffered so many terrible wounds that my comrades practically had to carry me on. Worse, when we arrived, the questors themselves were made hideous caricatures of life by the cultists dark magics. We skewered them through the bars of their dark cages until they suffered no more, released to Garlen's breast, and made way with the precious flowers of the grove, to return to the temple in Throal.

Greeted well, they heaped on us welcome healing both at hand and to take with us on our future adventures. I fear, though, that my flesh will forever bear some of the thin white scars where I could see down to my bones by their razor edges. It will certainly bear the memory.

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Merlho, my brother in steel, asked me to force a task on my adventuring companions to seek out new resources for our Brotherhood. The smiths of Throal are hungry and have been for some time, champing at reused iron and the slow digging at the veins beneath the mountain's foot. From within our tomb I had always heard complaint of the quality of iron, of our slowly diminishing supply, as pots and pans were turned to knives, and knives to pots and pans, an endless cycle of reforging and recasting occasionally brightened by new steel preciously scavenged from that which was once precious, be it air-ship or ancient armor.

Setting out south we followed the river to the mountain's foot, within sight of Travar's bright dome yet some seventy miles distant, and lost ourselves promptly in the hills. Upon the road we encountered the most curious creatures, which I had heard of only in stories.

The Chakta Bird is possessed of the most beautiful black feathers, chased with patterns on each edge of gilt like gold, and they have curiously wise eyes. This is proper, since they greet travelers with some caution, and insist on a kind of decorum of the road. I am not one to trust such a beast, but knowing this bit of trivia I engaged them with polite bows, and bit my tongue to allow my good friends to speak on my behalf.

Speaking of which, this day was the first I met Krel An Travar, a Troll of the Travar Moot. He is unkempt, as far as trolls go, with tawny hair like a lion's mane and twisted, side-facing horns, and his nails are always ragged - This makes sense, however, as the nails are as often jagged claws with which he strikes upon his prey; The Troll is a Beastmaster of some skill. Upon querying if he could calm the Genhis we later encountered and made our meal of, he said "I am not that kind." and proceeded to slay the thing.

No sooner had we dispatched the mother, however, when we came across its brood. I am well informed as to the habits of the Genhis, as well, and we girded our legs and walked warily into the carnage left behind. A small encampment of Ogres seemed to be our destination, and after dispatching the one swarthy beast (we decided it better to eliminate the idiot creatures rather than bother my brothers with their temperamental bartering) we knocked the swarm into a mine dug by ogre hands. The creatures have some affinity with elemental earth, and their mine was of value, so one by one we cleared the knock-jawed, razor-toothed, grinning little monsters from the face of Barsaive.

After fishing free what appeared to be a genhis birthing sack we had a look around the mine, discovering elemental earth, crystal, and iron. An excellent find. Also we stumbled over the raw corpse of an Ogress shaman, upon whom the genhis had been feeding. A nasty sight to be sure.

Merlho was very pleased with the news, and I took as my sole recompense for the task the excess of his and the rest of the brotherhood's stocks. Merchants from Travar are already starting to move between Throal and the Bright City, and I hope to hear of the frustration of Travari merchants as they discover a precious mine right on their doorstep is owned by my friend a thousand miles the other direction!

A note to self: I've begun work on a trophy necklace for Krel An. He seemed very keen on the bits of the creatures we met. Using a spindle awl and hand drill I've very carefully threaded holes through the roots of the genhis teeth, and little drifts of silver and elemental earth to make the cores of the chakta feathers strong. Three teeth, feather, two teeth, feather, one tooth, and then some further decoration, I think. A thin strip of the supple and strong genhis sack leather will make an excellent start for the thong. Needs centerpiece.

We headed out bright and early, high into the mountains. The air was clear, and the landscape full of lush green stands of tree and grass, with scree everywhere, crawling with little critters. We passed packs of wolves, and herds of deer, and at one point came face to face with a very territorial Great Bear.

It stood five meters high, with fangs like daggers, and rough, wiry fur. It galloped from the mouth of the cave and I stepped between it and my comrades to protect them from its awesome claws. I think, if not for the Dwarf Varis' Air Armor that he might have collapsed my ribs in the first swipe, but the inflated leather meant he instead simply swatted me to the ground as casually as a warrior shoves a bothersome toddler. I regained my footing and he lunged at me, but the illusionist windling struck out with her magic and confounded the beast, who sat back on his haunches and proceeded to lick his paws, making interested snuffling noises and deciding - apparently - that we were quite entertaining.

We hurried off into the mountains to escape the beast, and went wide around it on the way home. When we were nearly to the water Rir'sha, the T'skrang scout who had been navigating for us since the entrance of Throal, found a lucky break. He cut a side path and took us down a gulley that led to the water's edge, and from there we could see the towering cliffs that housed the Iceclaw Moot, the Troll Fortress we were looking for.

On the way up through the narrow passes and switchbacks we ran afoul of something most unpleasant. Blood bees. And in worrisome quantities. The trouble wasn't with the verminous cretins, though, but with their unnatural intelligence. They skirted my defenses, only attacking when I dropped my guard to attack, and darted wide around me to claim the Elementalist and even plucked the Windling from my very shoulder. When Rir'sha broke away to look for a spot of vantage, they swarmed him, driving him to the ground. In a final burst of resistance we broke their swarm and killed the last few, narrowly rescuing the T'skrang from the dirt.

We broke camp for the night only to find that the crafty buggers had crawled into our beds, joining us for a suck, only to be chased off by the watch, -twice-. Thanks to my Blood Share talent and the ability of the Physician Elementalist to heat our food and tend our wounds, we shrugged off the slings and arrows of the day, and took our chances ascending to the plateau where the Moot loomed over the river below. We snuck amongst the ruins for a short time, only to find a mass of horror-tainted insects, and the corpses of the wolves that had joined them in death. The nest of the queen was not far off, a gaping maw in the hillside nearby.

Our first assault was repelled by infinitely swarming horror-tainted termites and blood bees, some collaboration of beasts having spawned an unfortunate and moderately slimy union. With the scout being injured again and again by jaws so sharp they pierce armor and flesh alike, we retreated to rest, regroup, and gather our strength. In our second foray it was decided the brave Heartscry, Windling Illusionist and happy companion (who's songs were almost universally welcome and uplifting), would dare the darkness with torch and spell. We held the bulwark at the mouth of the cave while she went high amongst the cavern ceiling, and we held well until she cried out in pain and fear.

That was when I ran into the dark, sword in hand, and waded through snapping jaws unseen in the inky black to rescue her from the massive, maggoty queen. After a painful ricochet off one wall, I was nearly hamstrung by one of the guardians, my blood rushing out on the floor. Still I charged ahead, and cut down one of the wriggling mass that swarmed over the Windling, jaws snapping, each creature her own size like hungry wolves packing a deer. Before I could raise my blade again the maggoty queen stuck me to the floor with her foetid vomit, and I was helpless in the onrush of skittering legs and seeping, poisonous orange vapour.

Again the Scout saved us, rushing from the rear to cut the Windling free, and she took wing once again. While Varis picked off the creatures that clambered up my body to slay me, and I toppled to the floor under the weight of wounds and foes. Rir'sha's final bolt went wide, clattering off the queen's translucent carapace, and I thought we were done for, but Heartscry let fly one final desperate spell... and the queen guessed wrong, strutting confidently against illusion when the Windling cast a first true spell, and slayed her where she jiggled.

Still. Somewhere out there is a queen that births the blood bees. And we never did deal with that Greater Bear.

I have waited three full weeks before writing this recount of our trip into the forested valley North of Throal. In fact, I have spent much of that time in research, digging out the truth and finding empty spots within the Great Library. In my recount I sound a madman, and in my heart I feel betrayed. Whatever thing this 'Wolf-Father Librarian' truly is, I will no longer make my way into its den, nor trust its emissaries. I am a skeptic. I know this in my heart. My Way requires me to be so. All pieces play their part or the crossbow does not function, and the pulley that does not turn, the trigger that does not pull, forces the weapon to a state of inaction. This feeling atop my skepticism is that broken pulley. It is that rusted trigger.

I shall begin at the beginning.

We left Throal a fine and sunshiney Raquas day, following the rumor one of the Librarians in the Great Library discovered. He had very little information, and now that I think back I remember him having the most dazed look on his face. I certainly should have written his name down. My companions for this journey were the same as those who accompanied me to free the Iceclaw Troll-Moot, and I am pleased to say they're all looking hale and strong. Though Varis seemed fatigued, his spirits were high and his magic was more powerful than ever.

Heartscry sang us a jaunty marching tune as we took to the Northern path by the light of my map. The dark places fell away as we took landmark to landmark, and our supplies were more than fit for the trip to the Moot grounds. There we found the Trolls in unfortunate distress, and their claims of having sent word of need to the Kingdom of Throal were rejoined with words of displeasure from our party. How could we not have heard of this yet? It seems a few blood bees attack the village every night, and they've lost a pair of sentries to these vicious, venomous varieties in the weeks since our departure from the blade's edge mount the Moot is perched atop. Further, they still need help in carving a trade-path down the mountainside to the water's edge.

It took us three further days to push our way around the unyielding terrain and cross the river, though we did find a lovely ford across a spit of dry, sandy land that has made a new place on my map, which I have folded into this journal because as will become clear later: it is garbage. Across the river we learned the entire area is infested with these horror-tainted vermin, and that the insect-spawning horror has been driving all present wild-life into a frothing tizzy.

We were attacked by two massive grizzly bears, you see. The injured beasts were enraged, and our presence in their territory did little to assuage them. Though noble Varis nearly had his head stoved in by one of the shaggy brutes, Rir'sha's arrows and the Elementalist's earth-darts felled them under cover of Heartscry's fanciful illusions. I cannot overstate the value of this little windling and the role she plays in making my job within the group function.

Carving up bear meat to bring with us, we scanned the area for further taint, then followed the marvelous scout along the path back to the Bears' den. There we found their cubs murdered and the cause, we believe of their great madness. I, too, would be insensate with rage, beyond incensed at the death of my children. When I returned home I burned wheat and honey in the memory of those poor beasts, but my dreams took weeks before they were sweet again.

Cries in the night led us soon to a pack of ravenous wolves demolishing a sortee of these disgusting vermin. With our aid the insects were vanquished - including their oversized leader - with the loss of only one of the wolves; I blame my hesitation to wade into their ranks for this, and I am fully culpable, but I do not believe it wise to prace blind-face into a pack of wild animals snapping and snarling as they murder a squirming mass of tainted bugs. We were backing away from the pack when to our surprise they knelt fores down and took to their knees as if in some sort of lupine genuflection. I was shocked! Heartscry seemed almost to expect it and giggled and gave them a curtsey.

I took careful note of our surroundings. Landmarks and variance aplenty from what I recall thinking at the time, but hard-pressed I could not tell water from stone if you asked me to find the place now. My map, as you will see, bears this out. The list of landmarks becomes jumbled, and plain Dwarven fails to describe as letters run into each other and words become gibberish; I was much put out after the fact. What sort of place of learning and bastion of knowledge becomes impossible to find, squelches the creative spirit, and steals the very thoughts from an artisan mind?! Still, I wandered blithely inside, unbothered by the way my hand scribbled nonsense on valuable parchment.

Within the underground domicile we found a cyclopean vault. I think now we were inside some sort of corrupted Kaer, and our minds were tricked into seeing mushrooms as big as men, flowing water, stands of moss, and wolves as big as elephants. Mammoth furry carnivores shepherded us into the great kaer-style doors and into the library proper, where the wealth of an empire had been poured into a place that could have saved ten thousand lives when the Horrors came. Therein laired the Wolf-Father, so called by himself, a Librarian. In human guise this thing spoke into our very minds, like some sort of beast-master/wizard/dragon who's power was beyond our own as the greatest of Named horrors is beyond those of mere Adepts. We all know that Wolf-Father is not a Name, and I should have been distraught by this odd title, but I smiled blithely and put my things away, content that the childish scribbles that ruined my map to this place of untold wealth were fine work. As our questions were met with cryptic half-truths, we were bid sleep in treasure chambers fit with accoutrements so sumptuous that I have never seen such a -description- by the great Garaham, the Troubador for whom Garaham Hall is named. At first I thought we were being treated to a taste of the treasure chambers of this infinite palace of words, but it seems this great Kaer-of-One-Man had bedrooms to spare, of such rich and saccharine delights that I was loathe to move a muscle, so lured into torpidity by the sheets (smoother than a lover's thigh), the matress (softer than a pussycat's footfall), the candles (more delicate than a firefly's dream). The next day we all got a late start, positively drunken on the very atmosphere of the place.

Though a veritable army stood within, and we saw then that the wolves transformed into shaggy pelted Namegivers through some Beastmaster alchemy, and some were clearly of such power that they could have torn us asunder with casual ease, we were bid by this enigmatic Wolf-Father to march upon a further sortee by this insect birthing horror we have been hearing rumor of. With the termite maggot of that little cave above the moot removed, we questioned and were graciously told that a further Bee queen and Ant queen remained. How this Wolf-Father knows these things I am unsure, but again at the moment I should have been paralyzed with fear and doubt, and yet blithely nattered on without a care. I asked only if we would march out with wolves when we left, and was assured that he would not risk the lives of his children when we would suffice, and then we pranced into the wood like babes to our near slaughter.

After near an hour of wandering the wooded glen that the wolves somehow indicated was our quarry, we were beset by the verminous beasties. You would think this a simple thing, and yet the first blood-bee pierced my salted side like a spear, drawing blood and scraping my rib. The great envenomed ones then likewise attacked, and if not for Heartscry's timely magics we would all be dead. One by one, the poor little windling included, we were pierced by stingers that punctured armor like gossamer, and felled by poison that robbed the flesh of validity, laying prone upon the grassy ground and shuddering in agony. I did my utmost to protect Heartscry, as the precious little windling was first to fall to the venomous things, but in my haste to retreat from our overmatched state I can only breathe relief that I did not -fall- upon her little body and crush her dead. Somehow, miraculously, Varis ended the fight, and we all pranced gaily back to the Wolf-Father for our promised reward, on the tails of rangy wolves. My own talents were of no use, those vermin seemed inured to steel. All credit goes to the fine efforts of our magician allies, who's bending of threads saved us all whole-cloth.

I am ashamed to say that once we returned to this Wolf-Father he gave items to the most effective of us. Medallions with a wolf-image that I can only fear bind them to him. Now that I am far away, now that I am in my rational mind, I recall with horror that he handed me a golden stone and bid me swallow it, and I blithely did so, and did not question the piercing pain in my gut. I am told the stone's magic will heal wounds, but at what price? Any who return to this lair in the dark wood, steel your thoughts, and be prepared, for this Wolf-Father lurks, and I can smell only deception on my own thoughts.

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Given leave to catch the wind on the only private Airship in Travar, the Cape Wrath I was secretly elated to be leaving the ground behind for my first trip into the sky. Thane Cawdor, a heroic Troll who follows the old Way of the Sky Raider managed to 'convince' Captain Corvus to lead us on this merry voyage to a broken kaer that the ship spotted from the sky on its forays into Death's Sea. Since the beginning of the Scourge the Cape Wrath has been in mothballs, her owners heaping aside money that weakened their house, only to make a killing at the end of the Scourge when their sole Airship was capable of streaking westward to harvest the necessary Elemental Fire to build -more- airships, so coveted by the City of Merchant's growing economy.

Thanks to our combat skills and enthusiasm, the air sailors shined to us fairly well, and we muddled through the travels until we reached the site, whereupon Captain Corvus promptly had us all escorted down by airboat. We traveled through the poisoned hills across somewhat marshy terrain until we entered the area of the kaer mouth, where we immediately spotted a group of trolls. Ascertaining arms and armor we approached with empty hands, offering hellos and waving them over.

They were brusque, to say the least. It wasn't until too late we recognized they'd patched together the hides of obsidimen to wear as armor, and their loathesome sneers I will not soon forget. Even Heartscry was silenced by the jeers and spitting of a foul brute who rose from behind stones with a bow the height of an elf. I have an admitted fondness for the great stone people, with their patience and their easy way, and to see the sneering face of a trog peering out from under his broken teeth and stitched back lips filled me with a rage I've never before known. I drew my blade and immediately went to work hacking the beastmaster apart, while his honorless ally retreated into the kaer mouth, shouting for help. Only too late we realized an archer also on guard was a crack shot, and he nearly killed Heartscry with a single arrow!

Thane and I battled the two trolls to a standstill, but it was a narrow thing, and afterward we were sorely pressed to move on. We shared our potions, however, and ascertaining Heartscry's health, she cast her 'make otherwhere' upon us, and we ventered into the dark, lit by Thane's crystal torch.

I held the light for the party as we went down stairs carved by clumsy hands, and by the time we realized this was more storage bolt-hole than kaer, we were too late, the bear was upon us. It charged and fell instantly to the spikes of Thane's mace and my sharp, scythan axe, but it proved to be only a baby, the enraged mother tossing a mangled troll corpse aside and charging us from the dark. The baby fell in one, but the mother we fought for a long minute, safe only thanks to Heartscry's frantic spellcasting.

Just outside the chamber strewn with the carcasses of Trolls stuffed into the skins of obsidimen in some kind of horror's parody, the floor of rough stone gave way to first worked stone, then solid slate pavers and a water-feature. Water is well-known to repel some horrors, and it seemed we might be on the verge of coming to a proper kaer, when a bellow from within the hall (only maybe six yards wide?) heralded the shrieking approach of a horned bear that Heartscry tells me is called a 'Brithain'. Part elemental spirit, these creatures are apparently possessed of uncanny intelligence for an animal, and a peculiar sense of sportsmanship.

Thane agreed to challenge the thing one on one... and it promptly splattered him against the floor like a child hurling a bell-pepper in a temper tantrum. His hard leather armor split down one seam and his blood splashed against the wall, and I had the passion's own time dragging his huge body away to a safe distance, which for some reason the Brithain proudly let us do, chortling after us as we 'fled its territory'.

Forced to retreat or miss our ride, we related our story to the sailors of the Cape Wrath to much laughter and catcalls, but they fed us and tended our wounds enthusiastically, and no one begrudged us our losses. Still, these ugly trolls worry me, and I wonder if the world is not made greatly worse for the Horror's Passing. Surely no one in the past would have done such a loathesome thing...